


solace in the age of heroes

by ginnyweasleys



Category: Justice League (2017)
Genre: Gen, Past Character Death, Team Bonding, Team as Family, jl spoilers, mentioned canon ships, mentioned robins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-02-06 15:33:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12820578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ginnyweasleys/pseuds/ginnyweasleys
Summary: Alfred has watched a lot of people walk in and out of Bruce Wayne’s life. He’s never seen so many who stayed.





	solace in the age of heroes

He’s never told Bruce this, but he thinks about Jason Todd every day of his life.

It won’t help, he knows, because Bruce thinks about him every day, too. And he doesn’t need to remember that Alfred loved the boy too. Doesn’t need to be told that Jason had reminded  him, in every way possible, of Bruce himself. Doesn’t want to open that aching wound again and bleed it dry.

But Alfred had loved Jason, and he loves Dick, and he loves Bruce. And after all these years, four whole decades of watching Bruce grow and learn and harden into the Batman, watching him love and lose the ones he loves, he thinks he’s finally gotten the hang of it. He keeps the Robin suits preserved; he encrypts the footage so Bruce can only get into it if he _really_ wants to; he never makes Jason’s favorite meal again.

He’s stopped kidding himself. Bruce won’t take another Robin, and Bruce won’t let anyone into his life again. He will fight until it kills him, and Alfred will watch and do all he can to make sure that doesn’t happen. He’s gotten used to the ache in his own heart.

And then there’s the team.

 

 

 

“Are you sure about this?” he asks Bruce in a quiet moment, the calm before the storm. The call from the prison guard is fading from his phone. “He’s young, Bruce.”

“We need him,” says Bruce, studying their files on Barry Allen with narrow eyes. Committing it all to memory, Alfred knows, even though Bruce has got everyone memorized already.

“Yes, but…” Alfred stops, can’t figure out a way to say it with tact: _He’s young, he’s bright, he reminds me of Dick, he reminds me of Jason. His mother’s dead, his father’s in prison. We’ve been through this before, Bruce._

Bruce turns and there’s a sad smile on his face when he looks at Alfred. “I know,” he says simply. “If he says no… I’ll leave him alone. But we have to try.”

“Just be careful,” Alfred tells him, and he knows Bruce doesn’t need the clarification: _Don’t get too attached, don’t let him get attached, don’t try to save him because you might just get him killed._

He’s found that the words left unsaid with Bruce are often the loudest.

 

 

 

Diana sees him before she goes to Bruce. He raises his eyebrows, but doesn’t ask how she bypassed their security measures. She wouldn’t be on the team if she couldn’t, after all.

“Is he in?” she asks, with that warm smile that would put anyone at ease.

Alfred, who is not very used to being at ease, only nods and says, “He’s working on transport in the cave. I assume you have news?”

Her face darkens like a storm cloud passed over it. “I do, and none of it is good, I’m afraid.”

Alfred smiles wryly. “It rarely is these days. Go on in, I’m sure he’ll be expecting you. Or hoping for you to come, at any rate.”

Diana tilts her head, but doesn’t press the issue. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Certainly, Miss Prince.”

“Do you think we’re doing the right thing?”

“In saving the world?” Alfred pauses to wipe his hands from the food he’d been preparing. “Always.”

“No.” Diana’s gaze is steady, solemn as she holds him with it. “In these recruits. Putting together a team. We don’t know these people—has he ever worked with others before?”

Alfred’s mind goes straight to the streets of Gotham on nights long-gone, where the Batman stalked in the shadows with a young boy at his side, the green mask, the yellow cape, the overeager smile, those bright eyes—

“Yes,” he says shortly, and turns away from Diana. “He has.”

She inhales. “I didn’t mean to upset—”

“You didn’t,” Alfred says. “Don’t worry about it, Miss Prince. Just believe me when I say… Master Wayne wouldn’t do this if he wasn’t absolutely sure it was a risk worth taking. He understands the price very well.”

Diana nods, and he hears her footsteps start towards the door. “For what it’s worth… I think he’s right. About it being a risk worth taking. I just don’t know if the others will see it that way.”

Alfred takes off his glasses to rub a hand over his eyes. “We can only hope that they will, Miss Prince. We can only hope.”

 

 

 

“Looks like you have a date, Miss Prince. About time someone here did.”

Diana swivels the chair to look at him with a slight smile. She has a way of smiling that makes one want to smile back. It’s an unusual presence for the Batcave. “It’s a start,” she says, tapping her fingers on the arm of the chair. “Does he really never have dates?”

Alfred almost snorts, but stops himself in time. “You’ve seen the extent of his charm, haven’t you? Bruce Wayne is only a playboy insomuch as no one bothers to dig into his dating history and learn that he barely even looks at women anymore.”

Diana’s eyebrow goes up. “Anymore?”

He should’ve known she’d catch that. “Well, he wasn’t always so… brooding and lonesome. I’ve been told he’s quite handsome under that cowl.”

She laughs and gets to her feet. “He is.” Alfred files that away for further evaluation. “Was there someone special? Is that why he’s so… antisocial now?”

“That’s a kind way of putting it,” Alfred says dryly. “Yes, I suppose there was. He doesn’t speak of it anymore, so I probably ought to not either.”

“Understandable.” Diana walks around him towards the exit. “When we met, he told me he’d known many women like me. Of course, he didn’t know who I was then, but…”

“You did introduce yourself by stealing from him,” Alfred points out. “In that regard, yes, you may very well have reminded him of… someone else.”

“Someone important to him?”

“I would say so.” Alfred looks at her significantly. “He would not. I don’t suggest bringing it up.”

Diana nods slowly. “I understand. Thank you for… indulging me. I’m sure he wouldn’t tell me this of his own accord, but I always find it better to truly understand someone when I’m working with them.”

Her eyes look faraway, remembering another team, perhaps another man. Alfred inclines his head and looks away as she walks out the door to meet the Cyborg.

 

 

 

He tries not to actively think of Selina Kyle, because Bruce has some sort of radar for her and he always _knows_. And if he starts thinking about Selina Kyle, he’ll get in a bad mood that would put his Superman-induced bad moods to shame, and Alfred does so like to avoid those.

So when Bruce asks him, “Did you tell Diana something?”, his first reaction is dread.

“Something like what?” Alfred asks carefully.

Bruce levels him with one of his no-nonsense looks, the one that always made Dick wither like a schoolboy even well after his Robin years. “She keeps looking at me like… I don’t know. You know I don’t like pity.”

“I highly doubt it’s pity,” Alfred remarks. “Understanding, perhaps.”

Bruce narrows his eyes. “Understanding of _what_?”

“As hard as it is for you to comprehend, Master Wayne, other people are capable of connecting with you despite how difficult you make it for them.”

Bruce sighs, in an instant going back to the young boy that Alfred had raised. “Look, I’ve read up on her, you know that. I know about Steve Trevor. So if this is about…”

He trails off. Alfred looks skyward and internally prays for some sort of breakthrough. Bruce so delights in being stubborn.

“Selina,” Bruce finishes, and, to his credit, his jaw is only slightly clenched when he says her name.

“I assure you, Diana does not know her name,” Alfred says. “Or at least, she would not have learned it from me.”

Bruce’s gaze softens. “I know, Alfred, I… I know. And I appreciate it. I just… don’t like the idea of her knowing.”

“Why?” Alfred can’t help but ask. “Because she might leave you too?”

Bruce winces, like he’s been physically hit, but his face doesn’t shut down like it usually does. “If she leaves, she leaves. I just don’t want her thinking that I… want a replacement.” He pauses, then adds, “Because I don’t.”

“Oh, I know, Master Wayne.” Alfred smiles and Bruce looks at him in confusion. “You could hardly find a replacement for the best thing to ever happen to you.”

Bruce snorts and turns away. “It would help if you weren’t so smug about it.”

 

 

 

Diana doesn’t really remind him of Selina Kyle, aside from the way Bruce looks at her when she doesn’t see, not at all the way Barry Allen reminds him so viciously, painfully of Dick Grayson.

“Hey, Alfred,” he greets, hopping over the counter in the pantry. “Bruce told me you had food? Oh, _wow_ , this is a lot of food.”

“I’ve been informed you are something of a ‘snack hole’,” says Alfred, and tries not to jump when Barry zooms around him in a burst of blue light. “If you don’t mind, Mister Allen?”

“Sorry,” says Barry with a bright, irrepressible grin, skidding to a stop in front of him. “Just checking everything out. I _love_ chicken wings, did you know that? That smells _amazing_.”

“Everyone loves chicken wings,” Alfred says, and Barry nods emphatically in agreement. “Take what you need. I understand you eat more than average, so I prepared several of each dish so that the others could have—”

Barry zooms around again and about half his food is vanished when he stops. “That was awesome. Thanks, Alfred! Or—should I call you Mr. Pennyworth? What would you prefer?”

Alfred looks at him, practically hopping in place now that he’s full of food and energy. “You may call me Alfred,” he decides, and it has nothing to do with how Barry’s smile widens when he does.

“Cool. Hey, before I go back, do you have any soda? I just need something to sip while I work, you know, Coke is best but Pepsi is okay if that’s what you—”

Alfred remembers, very suddenly, another boy, sitting on the counter, swinging his legs and asking innocently for a can of Coke before patrol because, “It gives me energy, Alfred, and you know I need that.”

 _Yes_ , he had said back every night, _but it also gives you a sugar rush and you_ don’t _need that. And Master Wayne would not approve_.

And Dick would smile that same bright, irrepressible smile and say, “Well, he doesn’t have to know.”

Barry is waiting for an answer, so Alfred shakes himself out of the memory and says, “Yes, we have some Coke in the fridge. Bruce isn’t a big fan of soda, so it’s only one pack.”

“He’s not?” Barry frowns as he heads over—walking normally, for once—to the fridge. “Why not? Oh, wait, I forgot, he probably drinks alcohol instead, right?”

“Sometimes,” Alfred says, raising his eyebrows. “Water is also a good option. Do you not drink?”

“Nah, it tastes gross,” Barry says with a shrug. “I feel like it’s only fun when you have someone to go drinking with you and I… never really did.”

His voice falls away, partly out of some remembered hurt, partly because his head is buried in the fridge to find the six-pack at the very back. Alfred stares at his shoulder line, the black and red hoodie, the dark hair ruffled at the back of his neck, and thinks of—

_Master Todd, if you’re attempting to sneak a beer out of the fridge at two in the morning, I would suggest you not._

And Jason pulled back with a soda in his hands and smirked at him. “I would never, Alfred,” he had said innocently. “I’m only fourteen. Bruce would have my ass if I did.”

Barry, who is barely of legal age, draws out of the fridge with a can of Coke and pops it open. “Sorry, did you say something?”

Alfred realizes he must have made a noise. “No, nothing. Tell the others they can come in for dinner whenever they want.”

“Will do.” Barry raises his soda at him in a mock-toast. “Dunno if they even eat, though. I mean, Diana and Arthur are basically gods and Victor’s mostly metal… does Bruce eat?”

“Much as he pretends otherwise, Master Wayne _is_ still human.”

“He doesn’t act like it,” Barry mutters, passing him by the counter. “I mean, no offense. He’s great—he’s a great guy. It just feels like he pushes himself too far sometimes.”

“Sometimes?” Alfred sighs. “Only _all_ the time, Mister Allen. But if he didn’t, he wouldn’t be Batman.”

Barry grins. “Well, the world does need a Batman. No matter what Superman says.”

“Indeed,” Alfred says, and watches Barry zip away, lightning sparking up the room for the briefest of instants, his smile lingering.

 

 

 

Victor is more painful to confront. He’s as young as Barry but seems so much older, so much wearier. His red eye flashes when he looks at Alfred, and it brings him back to another boy who loved red. Who died bleeding. Who might—who might be Victor’s age, if he had gotten the second chance that Silas Stone gave his son.

But Bruce never would have done it. Never could have done it, never would have risked it. And so he buried Jason.

Looking at Victor, Alfred knows that if he could have been buried too, he might honestly choose that. Choose death over this terrifying new life, the machinery, the magic, the gifts and the curse. He wonders what Jason would have chosen: to live as a cyborg, or to die as a robin.

He wonders why neither of them ever got a choice. They were kids when they died, both of them.

Victor looks at him, judges the wine he’s pouring into a glass, and says quietly, “You’re scared.”

Alfred sighs. “Am I the only one?”

“No.” Victor walks forward, his metal feet resounding oddly on the steel floors. “It must be hard, worrying about him every time he goes off.”

“One gets used to it,” says Alfred, tipping the glass of wine into his mouth. “When one has known Master Wayne as long as I have… the only thing you can do is help and pray he comes home.”

Victor picks up a bag of chips that Barry has half-eaten. “I’m sorry,” he says, sounding strangely genuine. “I can’t imagine…”

Alfred waves a hand. “You five are doing much more than I am, and at much greater risk.”

“Yeah, but…” Victor drops the bag and comes over to stand in front of Alfred’s chair, his good eye narrowed in a frown. “I just keep thinking about my father.”

Alfred waits, and it takes Victor a moment to put his thoughts together.

“He just wanted me back, you know. I don’t think he expected… this. For me to become some sort of…”

“Superhero?” Alfred offers.

Victor’s lips twist in a half-smile. “That’s a good word for it, I guess. I’m sure he didn’t mean for me to risk my life fighting an alien invasion.”

“Perhaps not.” Alfred takes another sip of his wine, thinking over his next words. “But what makes you a superhero is not the circumstance of an alien invasion. It is that you choose to help, even when you don’t have to. Even at great personal risk to yourself.”

Victor’s red eye flashes, not dangerously, more thoughtfully. “You sound like you’ve given this speech before.”

Alfred thinks back to a little boy, shaking after his first mission out on the streets, curled up under the blankets Alfred had gotten him and begging him, “Don’t tell Bruce—don’t tell him I’m scared.”

_He knows you’re scared, Master Todd. But he also knows you are brave. And you are brave because you choose to fight, even with your fear._

“Who was he?” Victor asks, voice quiet, and Alfred realizes he hasn’t spoken for a moment too long.

“You mean you don’t know?” Alfred nods at his hands. “I was under the impression you had downloaded all of Master Wayne’s database.”

Victor smiles slightly. “I don’t pry unless I have to. I know—I know there were others. Robin. Two Robins?”

“Two Robins,” Alfred confirms.

“Why aren’t they here?”

Alfred looks down into his wine glass. “One of them is in another city, and the other… is gone.”

Victor doesn’t ask any more questions. Alfred thinks he catches a trace of guilt on his face before he turns to leave, but whether it is for asking or because he cheated death, he cannot say.

 

 

 

Of all of them, the Aquaman is the one he expects to leave first. The fact that he had shown up in the first place was, he knows, a bit of a miracle. And yet, here he is, three days after the battle, when the dust has settled and the skies are blue again, lounging around the cave eating popcorn as he watches Bruce and Diana argue over something to do with civilian rehabilitation and the clean-up over the nuclear plant.

Alfred offers him a bottle of beer, which he accepts gladly. “Are you just here to watch the show, Mister Curry? I was under the impression you under-sea folks liked to be in the ocean more than on dry land.”

Arthur grins and tosses more popcorn into his mouth. “What can I say? These guys keep me way more entertained than the blowfish and the seahorses.”

“Indeed,” says Alfred dryly, sitting down in the armchair next to him. “What are they arguing about this time?”

“Bruce wants to set up a charitable organization anonymously to help with the clean-up and stuff, and Diana thinks they should go to an existing organization and offer help as superheroes, and he says only she and Clark can do that ‘cause the rest of us aren’t actual heroes, according to the public, and now she’s mad because he used the word vigilante and she thinks he should call himself a superhero and also we’re supposed to be setting up a whole society, Bruce, how can we do that if you’re not a superhero?”

Alfred raises an eyebrow. “You’ve been paying attention that closely?”

“I mean.” Arthur shrugs and gestures in Diana’s direction. “Wouldn’t you?”

Diana manages to stop arguing long enough to overhear this. “Arthur, would you tell Bruce he’s being silly? We have no need to be anonymous—”

“Oh, I’m not getting in the middle of this,” Arthur says quickly. “Go get Superman to be the tie-breaker.”

Bruce and Diana have a momentary stare down, and then Bruce sighs and pulls out his phone.

“Where are the others?” Alfred asks him. He knows the whole team, except Clark, had spent the two days after the battle crashing at Bruce’s place because he had bedrooms and conveniences and they were all too tired to go right home, and they had only started trickling out back to their own places earlier today, with promises to come back and deal with the aftermath together.

“Victor’s at STAR Labs with his dad,” Arthur says. “Barry—who knows with that kid? He could be halfway around the world, we’d never know. And Superman is probably busy making up lost time with that reporter of his.”

“Clark says he’s coming,” Bruce announces with a hint of satisfaction in his expression. Diana crosses her arms and glares at him. “Look, if you wanna go play the public relations game, be my guest.”

“I’m not doing it _alone_ ,” she snaps. “All in, remember?”

“That was for Steppenwolf, not the paparazzi. We don’t even have a headquarters set up—hell, we haven’t even decided where it should be—”

Arthur raises a hand. “I got a kingdom.”

“We’re not living underwater,” Bruce and Diana say at the same time.

Arthur shrugs. “Worth a shot.”

Alfred leans back in his chair and watches the three of them bicker and, if he’s not mistaken, joke around. Arthur seems to have some sort of effect where both Bruce and Diana gang up on him only to realize belatedly that he’s not serious and start laughing. At least, Diana laughs, and Bruce makes that face he makes when he wants to laugh but also doesn’t want to seem like he has emotions.

“Do you really have a kingdom?” Alfred asks him, somewhat skeptically, during a lull in the conversation.

Arthur seems to consider this. “I mean, technically? I think people would have a problem if I just waltzed in and claimed I was the king, though. Especially Mera.”

“Who’s Mera?” asks Diana with interest, coming over to sit next to him. She has to shove his legs off the seat to do it, but she manages easily, even with Arthur frowning at her.

“No one.”

“Must be someone, if you’re thinking about her,” says Bruce with a smirk.

Arthur turns his glare on him. “She doesn’t like me. And she kind of runs Atlantis, so…”

“So, if we were to set up our headquarters underwater, we would have to deal with your… what is it, ex-girlfriend?” Bruce presses. His tone is surprisingly light and teasing, and Alfred is reminded of a long-ago day when Dick Grayson had snuck into the Batcave late and Bruce, who had known very well about his date with a certain Barbara Gordon, asked him where he had been.

Arthur throws popcorn at him. “Shut up. When was the last time you had a date, dressing up like a bat?”

“You have got to get over that, you dress like a mermaid.”

“I look cooler than you.”

“Boys, please,” says Diana in a voice that sounds like she’s muffling a laugh. “I’m sure we all look very cool when we’re fighting monsters and criminals.”

“Don’t forget the fish,” says Bruce.

Arthur dumps the bag of popcorn on his head.

 

 

 

Clark and Diana are talking quietly in the kitchen when he goes there to spare himself Arthur and Bruce’s bickering. He doesn’t exactly try to overhear, but they’re standing out in the open with little privacy, so he figures he’s okay in passing through.

“Alfred,” says Diana warmly. “Do you have any of that lasagna still? I wanted to send some home with Clark for Lois, yours is just about the best I’ve ever had.”

“Thank you kindly, Miss Prince, there should be some leftovers in the fridge,” Alfred tells her. “Provided Mister Allen did not finish it when I wasn’t looking.”

“Barry does love his pasta,” she agrees, heading over to the fridge. “Clark and I were just talking about how it feels like raising boys, having all of them running around. Well, Barry runs around.”

“And Bruce broods,” Clark notes with a laugh. “A lot.”

“Indeed,” says Alfred dryly. “Would that make you two the parents?”

“Of course not,” Diana says, a cheeky smile on her face. “That would be you, of course.”

 “I can hardly control even one of you, let alone all six.”

“See, it’s not about control,” says Clark. “It’s about understanding us. And if you can understand Bruce, of all people, I’m sure you can understand the rest of us.”

Alfred feels himself smile involuntarily. “Master Wayne isn’t nearly as complicated as he pretends he is.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that,” Diana suggests. “He loves to think he’s such a mystery.”

“You know, I always wondered…” Clark leans over the counter, hands folded. “Why the bat?”

“He had a dream,” says Alfred, injecting as much sardonicism into his tone as he can. “Something about falling into a bat cave, and then having them lift him up into the sunlight. He says it was very symbolic.”

“I think he just thought they were cool,” Clark muses.

“Bats are cute,” Diana says, shrugging. “I’m not sure why he thought they’d be all dark and mysterious. They’re just like puppies with wings.”

“Which is weird, since he can’t actually fly…”

Alfred chuckles in spite of himself. “I’m just waiting for him to invent wings that actually do work. It feels like it’s only a matter of time.”

“Only a matter of time till what?” Bruce asks, coming in from the door behind them. As on, Alfred, Clark, and Diana turn to look at him, the latter two wearing innocent expressions. Alfred doesn’t bother; Bruce is smart enough to know when people are making fun of him.

“Till you figure out how to fly,” Diana tells him.

Bruce raises his eyebrows. “What makes you think I haven’t already?”

“Wanna test it?” Clark asks. Bruce sends him a withering glance. “I guess that’s a no.”

“Do I need to know how to fly when I have you two there to catch me?”

Diana and Clark trade looks, and then she says, “You know that only works if you trust us to catch you.”

Bruce looks at her. “You think I don’t?”

“No offense, but you’re not exactly the poster boy of trusting people,” Clark points out gently. “I mean… there was that whole thing, remember, me and you?”

Alfred mutters, “I warned him not to…”

“Thank you, Alfred,” Bruce says, shooting him a glare. “Yes, I am aware I’m too paranoid. You would be too, if you lived in Gotham instead of bright and happy Metropolis.”

“Hey, Metropolis isn’t all rainbows and sunshine,” Clark protests.

Bruce ignores him and continues, “But we saved the world together. We’re building a league together. I think—and correct me if I’m wrong—but I think that qualifies you five for a little more trust than I give most people.”

“How kind of you,” Diana teases, but she’s smiling at him. “Just us five? You don’t plan to trust any more people?”

Bruce drums his fingers on the counter and glances once at Alfred. “Maybe one day.”

It’s a promise, maybe, or a hope of one. Alfred hides a smile behind a glass of water and takes his leave.

 

 

 

Barry collapses on the couch in the informal living room just in front of the Batcave and groans. “I regret taking an actual job.”

Alfred looks up from his monitors in time to see Bruce walk over with a frown and nudge Barry’s legs over.

“No, you don’t,” says Bruce, sitting down on the arm of the couch when Barry’s legs don’t move. “You’re just running yourself thin.”

“Yeah, but there’s a lot of people to save,” Barry protests, throwing one arm over his eyes. “And criminals to stop—Central City has a serious problem with robbers. And I mean, that’s the _fun_ stuff. Dissecting gross shit for the crime lab? Not so much.”

“If you don’t start with the dissecting gross shit, how will you ever get to the actual cool shit?” Bruce points out reasonably.

Barry removes his arm to glare at him. “You don’t _always_ have to be so sensible, you know.”

“Yes, sometimes children just want to whine,” Alfred says knowingly. Bruce grins and Barry sighs overdramatically.

“You can’t only come here to complain,” Bruce says to him. “Make yourself useful. We have to put some supporting beams over at the manor today, get it up to code. Wanna help?”

“That sounds like work,” Barry says suspiciously.

“It’s fun work,” Bruce promises, patting his knee. “Come on, let’s go. Clark has a date, so I’m gonna need someone with super strength around.”

“I don’t have super strength, I just heal really fast,” Barry protests. “How come Clark gets to have an excuse?”

“Do you have a date?” Bruce asks.

“No.”

“Then you don’t have an excuse.”

“Okay, but what if I did?”

Bruce has a hint of a smile on his face when he says, “What, did Iris say yes?”

Barry opens his mouth, then closes it. “Not even gonna _ask_ how you know her name…”

“You sleep-talk,” Bruce informs him dryly. “A lot.” Alfred knows that’s not quite true, Bruce keeps tabs on Central City like he does Blüdhaven, but he keeps silent out of amusement.

Barry flushes. “I haven’t asked her out yet.”

“Good.” Bruce grabs Barry’s arm and manages to haul him to a sitting position. “Then this will be your motivation.”

Barry grumbles as Bruce leads him out of the cave, but when Alfred goes to check up on the headquarters later, all the beams are miraculously in place.

 

 

 

Victor comes by one night while Bruce and Alfred are enjoying dinner. At least, Alfred is enjoying dinner and Bruce is absentmindedly eating pad thai while he runs scans of Gotham and Metropolis and about five other cities on his monitors.

“How’s it going?” Victor asks, sitting down on the swiveling chair next to Bruce like he belongs there.

Bruce doesn’t even blink. “Pretty slow night actually. I guess that’s why you’re here?”

It occurs to Alfred that there might be a problem getting the team to acclimate to the new headquarters at Wayne Manor instead of just automatically going to Bruce’s lair whenever they want to hang out.

“Yeah, nothing’s going on in my neck of the woods.” Victor glances at Alfred and then looks back at Bruce, his voice lowering. “But actually I came because… I stopped by Blüdhaven earlier.”

Bruce freezes. “What?”

“Don’t be mad,” says Victor carefully. “He called me first.”

Bruce turns his chair around and stares Victor down. “I’m not mad,” he says in a tone that implies he _is_ mad. Alfred hides a sigh. “Why did he call you?”

“He had questions.” Victor shrugs. “So did I.”

Bruce waits. He has that look on his face he used to get when trying to wheedle out a secret from Dick or Jason, one that he probably has already guessed but just wanted them to confirm. Alfred thinks of Dick’s mischievous smile and Jason’s sullen pout, both of them so used to the way Bruce works that they know there’s no use lying anymore but still putting up a good front.

He thinks of the way Dick would sigh dramatically, the way Jason’s pout would give way to a sheepish grin, the way Bruce would arch one eyebrow and they’d both know it was too late, he already knew. He thinks of this and finds himself disoriented when he tunes back in to the Batcave of now, and the person sitting here who is not a Robin at all.

Victor, who doesn’t share their mannerisms, who treats Bruce less like a father and more like an equal, meets his gaze evenly and says, “You didn’t tell us about Jason Todd.”

“It wasn’t relevant,” says Bruce, so quickly that he must be on autopilot. Alfred wonders how many times he’s imagined this conversation, imagined the hurt, planned all his excuses.

“I agree,” says Victor, and Bruce goes silent in confusion. “It wasn’t necessary to the mission. But now—the mission is over. We’re trying to build a team.”

Bruce’s brow furrows. “Are you mad at me?” For a moment, he sounds painfully like the children Alfred had watched grow up—like himself, at age ten, like Dick, like Jason. Alfred wonders how long cycles go on, how many times he can watch the boy grow into a haunted man.

“No,” Victor says, honestly. “I know you keep your secrets close to your chest. I just wanted to be sure you weren’t holding onto something that would make this hard for you. Especially… especially with Barry.”

Bruce’s spine stiffens. “I’m not trying to replace Jason.”

“Maybe… you should tell him that.”

Alfred braces himself for the flash of anger, the gritted teeth, the explosive argument. Bruce has never had much patience for others telling him how to handle his feelings and his relationships; he barely allows Alfred to do it. And it has been a long time since someone who _wasn’t_ trying to kill him had even dared mention Jason’s name in front of him.

Bruce exhales slowly. “I’ll think about it.”

With Bruce, Alfred knows, that’s as good as it gets. Victor seems to recognize that because he nods and squeezes Bruce’s shoulder before he heads to his tech corner of the Batcave, leaving Bruce sitting in his chair with his gaze very far away.

“Master Wayne,” Alfred begins quietly. “You know you don’t have to…”

He knows better than anyone that Bruce can’t be pushed unless he wants to.

“I know,” Bruce says, with a rueful half-smile. “But he has a point. I’m the only one of them keeping so much locked away. God knows Clark and Barry wear their hearts on their sleeves.”

“You are not them,” Alfred says. “They are Superman and the Flash. You are something else.”

“Yeah, but now…” Bruce glances up at the monitors, where all of the logos that Lex Luthor had given them are shining in the corners. “Now I’m something else too.”

 

 

 

Arthur says, “He’ll be fine,” to Alfred as they watch Bruce go diving into the ocean. He knocks back a bottle of whiskey and then offers it to Alfred.

“Ah, no, thank you, Mister Curry,” says Alfred, peering down into the waves. “I’m supposed to be monitoring the aquatic reinforcements on his suit and he wouldn’t take too kindly to messing up the data by drinking over it.”

Arthur shrugs. “Suit yourself. I’m going after him.”

“Just for fun?” Alfred inquires.

Arthur grins and rips off his shirt. “Don’t really need an excuse to go swimming, do I?”

Alfred watches as Arthur dives into the waves, much smoother than Bruce had, and the jet stream he leaves in his wake as he swims off. The monitor in his hands beeps and locks onto Bruce’s location underwater, followed by a blue dot appearing to track Arthur’s location next to him.

“Impressive,” Alfred mutters to himself, if only because Bruce getting a tracker onto Arthur is a feat in and of itself. He begins walking along the seashore of the empty beach, waiting for Bruce to check all of his underwater equipment one by one.

When they surface about twenty minutes later, Bruce seems a lot more amused than he had been when he’d left.

“And you’re telling me,” he says to Arthur as he takes off his still-dry cowl, “that there’s nothing going on?”

Arthur scowls at him. “You saw her, right? She hates me.”

“I did see her, and quite frankly, you’re missing out,” Bruce says, accepting the scanner from Alfred to go over the data. “I mean, I’m not much for redheads, but…”

“Shut up, Wayne.” Arthur hoists himself out of the ocean and lands on the beach with a splash. “How’s your stupid suit?”

“Could use some adjustments,” Alfred answers, sending Bruce a curious look. “But you were able to breathe underwater for a time, which is the important part. No unusual creatures encountered down there?”

“Just a mermaid,” says Bruce with a smirk.

Arthur growls. “We’re not _mermaids_.”

“You breathe water…”

“Wayne, I will shove that cowl up your ass—”

Alfred interrupts quickly, “How about we go in for a drink then?”

As he sets off, he can hear Bruce tell Arthur quietly, “She doesn’t hate you, you know.”

Arthur pauses for a moment, their footsteps the only sound on the rocky beach. “What do you mean?”

“You and her…” Bruce gestures. “She reminds me a little of… a woman I knew. Gave me a hard time too. But I gave as good as I got and eventually…”

Alfred hides a smile. A lot had happened in that _eventually_.

“It’s not the same,” Arthur grumbles, but Alfred can detect a note of curiosity in his voice. He waits a while before asking, “What was she like?”

“What was she like?” Bruce echoes, as if he’s never heard that question before. In this context, Alfred supposes he hasn’t. Nobody ever _asks_ him about her.

“Your…” He can hear Arthur struggling with the admission. “Your Mera.”

“Mm.” Bruce is smiling, he can tell. It’s becoming less of a rare occurrence around the team. “Her name was Selina.”

“Was?”

“Is,” Bruce amends. “Her name is Selina. It’s complicated.”

Alfred can’t resist chiming in over his shoulder, “All the best love stories usually are.”

 

 

 

One never quite get used to the feeling of looking up and seeing Superman hovering in the air above you. Alfred nearly jumps—nearly, he’s trained himself out of overt surprise—when Clark appears in the sky out of nowhere on a clear Gotham night while he’s making adjustments to the Batmobile out in the fresh air.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” Clark apologizes, reaching out to put a hand on Alfred’s shoulder. It feels rather like a rock settling on his bones, at least until Clark remembers to modulate his weight. “Just thought I’d stop by. How’s Bruce?”

“Sleeping, I hope,” Alfred says with a sigh. “Sometimes I feel like I’m still raising a child with how hard it is to get him to admit he’s tired.”

Clark grins. “Even heroes get tired. Oh, I wanted to thank you for that lasagna the other day, Ma and Lois loved it.”

“You’re welcome,” says Alfred, not without a trace of irony that Superman is here thanking him for food when, barely a year ago, Bruce had been trying his best to murder him. “How is Lois doing?”

“Pretty good, actually. She and Ma are throwing themselves into wedding planning. We should have a date set soon and… I hope you’ll both be able to make it.”

Alfred smiles and adjusts his glasses. “We wouldn’t miss it for the world, Mister Kent.”

“Good.” Clark finally lands on the ground, his cape billowing around him. “I mean, I know Bruce will be busy but…”

“He’ll make the time,” says Alfred firmly. “He’s been invited to many weddings, but never one between two people he actually cares about, you know.”

Clark’s gaze softens, from Superman down to Smallville farm boy. “Never thought I’d see that day,” he admits with a light laugh. “Batman and Superman… actually friends.”

“He does like to take the path of most resistance,” Alfred says, his voice dry. “But he gets to the right place eventually.”

“I’m glad he did,” Clark says, looking up at the stars lighting up Gotham. “I think we’re all better off for it—for him, and what he did for us.”

“He wouldn’t see it that way,” Alfred admits.

“No, he wouldn’t,” Clark agrees. “But it’s true. He brought us together. Tell him I said hi, would you?”

“I will, but I have no doubt he’ll know of your visit the second he wakes up,” Alfred says. Clark laughs and claps him on the shoulder, and then he soars back up into the night sky, a spot of blue and red amongst the starlight. Alfred watches him go and isn’t very surprised when Bruce appears behind him just a few moments later.

“Was that Clark?” Bruce asks, with definite traces of sleepiness in his voice.

Alfred turns to level a look at him. “Master Wayne, you need your rest.”

“I’ll sleep when it’s convenient,” says Bruce dismissively. “What did he say?”

“Nothing much,” Alfred says, returning his attention to the Batmobile as Bruce hovers over his shoulder. “Wanted to preemptively invite us to his wedding.”

“Hm.” Bruce doesn’t say it, but Alfred knows he’s already planning up elaborate wedding gifts. “Anything else?”

“He did mention that he was glad you had gotten your head out of your ass long enough to form the team.”

He can feel Bruce’s eyes narrow at him. “Did he use those words?”

Alfred smiles. “No. But he said we’re all better off for it, and I can’t help but agree. Look at you, you almost slept for a full four hours.”

“Yes, well.” Bruce sounds almost sheepish at the thought of actually having gotten some sleep. “I’m meeting Victor and Diana for coffee today. If I look like I’m dead, she’s going to _lecture_ me.”

“And she would have every right to,” says Alfred, and smiles to himself as Bruce rolls his eyes and heads back into the house to get ready for an actual social outing for once.


End file.
